


In the Flicker of the Flame

by QueenMaria



Series: Grey-Dawn [6]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Reunited and it feels so gooooood, Tending the Flames
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-03-19 07:29:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13699791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenMaria/pseuds/QueenMaria
Summary: May our reunion be not a finding but a sweet collision of destinies.- Love, Stargirl





	1. Chapter 1

The commanders had insisted that they go out for the night.

More specifically, every legionnaire not actively performing another duty was ordered to make an appearance at the Burning.  To do so would show respect from the Imperials for a long held and beloved Nord tradition.  Word had apparently even come down from Rikke herself that the burning of a false king was too poignant to overlook as the war dragged on.  She and General Tullius were going to use the ceremony to make an announcement about the civil war as well, which Hadvar had to assume was mainly for morale.

Ever since the Dragonborn’s peace summit, the soldiers’ reassurances that the war would end soon, that the Stormcloaks were weakening, that the Legion remained strong, had dwindled to petty and rote recitations.  The rebels had gained control of Markarth, even if they had sacrificed Winterhold and Dawnstar in the trade, and watching the blue clothed traitors patrol the city walls as he left the stone city had made Hadvar’s heart burn with fresh hate.  They were forbidden from engaging with the enemy, even as they learned of Stormcloak camps nearby, of potential plots, of troop movements.  The most they were permitted to do was record what they knew and pray that the truce would end in time to make a difference.

And Hadvar knew the truce would end.  Ulfric would never give up on his mad grab for power now, not after the Dragonborn had acknowledged his side as a strong enough opponent that she needed to hold a formal meeting for a ceasefire just to deal with the dragons.

There were moments, if he dwelled too long, that he wanted to find Aneira and ask her what in Oblivion was she thinking.  And apparently Hadvar wasn’t the only one in the Legion who felt that way, if the grumbles and murmurs of the other soldiers were anything to go by.  But then there were far more moments when Hadvar wanted to find Aneira and hold her against him and ask her what she was thinking, was she okay, wasn’t there anything he could do to help her-

Shaking his head, Hadvar mused that all these conflicting thoughts and tensions were exactly why the officers thought he and everyone else needed something to take their mind off the way the days of waiting crawled by, even if only for an evening of last minute revelry.

That was how he found himself walking toward the Bard’s college his third night in Solitude, dressed in his full lightweight uniform with the exception of his helmet.  Thanks to the miraculous recovery of an old Nordic Edda by some bard, the Burning of King Olaf had been hastily announced two days prior.  Hadvar could almost resent the discovery, an incredible part of his people’s heritage or not, since it meant he wasn’t indulging in some much-needed rest.

But Hadvar was a quaestor in the Imperial legion, and since his return to duty from Helgen he’d been more dedicated to his work than ever before.  It was all he could do, considering they hadn’t questioned him too carefully when he reported in over two weeks late apparently unharmed and without a Dragonborn to introduce to the General.

So, he walked up the steps to take the meat pie from Sorex with a smile, a thank you, and a promise to buy more later.  He broke it apart to eat with the other citizens, some known and some strangers, and accepted the spiced wine that made the festival so popular.  The dark liquid burned as pleasantly as it always did, even if Hadvar suspected his smiles didn’t reach his eyes and his small talk was bland.  It was made clear that he only needed to stay until Rikke and Tullius made their announcement, and then the soldiers could slip away without a fuss.

Just his luck, the College seemed eager to get to the main event as the members walked in an elegant line to stand along the rim of the small arena.  Olaf’s effigy had been up since dawn that day, the dried straw and rope ready to ignite at the first lick from a torch.

An Altmer male stepped forward to make his grand welcome to the festival.  He gestured theatrically toward the far-left side of the arena, voice ringing out as he praised the newest member of the college for her dedication and hard work. Hadvar glanced over casually, only to furrow his brow to see Rikke and Tullius standing just behind the center of the curve, flanking the individual standing with her hands clasped behind her back.

Hadvar couldn’t see much by the light of the torch the High Elf was holding on the other side of the effigy, squinting at the woman between his superiors until the elf called out for Rikke and Tullius to step forward.  His eyes moved back to the general and legate, distinguishable only because of Tullius’s unique armor and Rikke’s gleaming steel as they moved to stand beside the woman at the rim.

“This night marks more than a celebration of the denouncement of false kings,” Tullius began in a strong voice, turning carefully to face the crowds.  “Just as this woman is more than a new member of the Bard’s College.”  His general tilted his head back, bring up his right hand to gesture to the figure.  “She is the Dragonborn, Aneira Grey-Dawn.”

A stone dropped straight into Hadvar’s stomach, throat squeezing painfully as the woman raised her chin to gaze out among the people.  The darkness kept her features blurred, kept him from recognizing her.

 _I can’t make out her face_ , he thought dizzily, barely listening as Tullius continued.

“She is a loyal citizen of Skyrim and the Empire, and she has fought against the dragon menace in Skyrim since it began.”  Tullius lowered his hand, and Hadvar watched in a daze as Rikke stepped forward.

“The Dragonborn is a savior of the people!” Rikke’s voice rang out, filled with a passion that Tullius had notably lacked in comparison.  “She has vanquished the World-Eater!  Alduin is no more!”

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, crying out “Dragonborn!” until Rikke raised her hands for silence.

“And now, the Dragonborn has pledged to serve Skyrim and the Empire once again!”  Rikke leaned back, taking a deep breath.  Hadvar felt the hair on the back of his neck rise in anticipation.  “She has pledged herself to the Imperial Legion, and promised her support against the rebellion!”

Impossibly, the screams from the crowd grew louder still, and Hadvar felt himself gasp shakily as he stared at Aneira.

 _Your face_ , he thought with a touch of desperation, _let me see your face. Step into the light, step_ -

The effigy to his right burst into flame, orange and yellow fire running the length of the straw figure in a matter of seconds.  Hadvar jerked, eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden change in the light even as he tried to look at the lady again.

Shapes and colors coalesced until he saw her, garbed in dark red and illuminated by the pyre.  Her hair was drawn back, and her eyes stared out among the revelers without shame or embarrassment.  Aneira was smiling softly at the crowd, and eventually Hadvar realized that she would be able to see him as well.

He couldn’t make out the deep blue of her eyes from so far away, but Hadvar still felt the moment they met his.

And he couldn’t have looked away, not even if another dragon wanted to land on the towers above them.


	2. Chapter 2

The red of her dress was trimmed with brown, lighter than the dark hair hanging in loose waves around her shoulders.  There was a gold necklace resting just above the lining of her dress, the jewel catching the firelight with a wink.  A matching circlet surrounded her forehead, giving her a more regal and dignified appearance than anything he’d been able to see on her back in Riverwood.  From this distance and the firelight, the Dragonborn bore a greater resemblance to a princess than a battle-ready warrior.

But Hadvar could so easily imagine her in the robes of the battlemages, hands sparkling with golden light or crackling with lightning the way they had back in Helgen, and he knew that his former lady was a force of nature no matter her chosen garb.

Aneira had jolted when she saw him from around the curb of the arena, mouth parting and hands twitching at her sides like she wanted to reach out.  She’d recovered quickly, shifting on her feet to keep turning until Rikke was done announcing her to the crowd.  Hadvar didn’t pay much attention to what his superior was saying, given his focus on the elegant lady.

He inhaled shallowly, lungs stuttering as he watched her look around the crowd of revelers.  Her lips were curled in a small smile, teeth showing easily when one after another came forward to thank her again.  Hadvar stayed where he was, fingers flexing around his bottle of wine while he waited for her to move closer.  Aneira clasped hand after hand as she moved around the pyre, letting the bards twirl or dance with her in brief flourishes so she swayed toward and away from him at random.

Taking a step back, Hadvar waited at the wall of the Bard’s College while the Dragonborn mingled with the crowds, eyes tracking her beautiful form for the right moment to speak with her.  It didn’t matter that he had no idea what to say.

“Quaestor.”

Hadvar almost jumped, head turning to his right to see Tullius standing a foot away.  The general wore his typical unreadable expression, dark eyes staring at him while Hadvar turned and placed his fist hastily over his heart.

“General.”

Tullius nodded sharply, letting his head turn quickly toward the crowd around Aneira and then back.

“You’ll receive orders tomorrow.  You’ve been assigned to a retrieval mission, leaving in the afternoon.”

The redhead felt his heart skip a beat, eyes jerking away from the general’s for a split second to land on Aneira again while a protest built in his throat.  He smothered it at the last moment, throat clicking around the words.

_We haven’t even spoken again.  You can’t send me away yet._

“I assume that won’t be a problem, soldier.”

His general’s voice was clipped, really not much different than usual, but Hadvar still felt a warning in the back of his head.  “No, sir.”

“Good.  I expect you to be ready to leave. You’ll be under Rikke.”  Tullius turned, giving Hadvar a moment to sweat before he finished.  “This is need-to-know only, Quaestor.”

“Yes, sir,” Hadvar answered carefully, meeting the older man’s eyes.

“Hmm,” was the only respond Tullius gave before stepping away.

Hadvar gave him another salute as he left, swallowing more wine to help steady his nerves.  He could feel the bitter taste of disappointment on his tongue as his adrenaline at seeing the Dragonborn again turned to exhaustion.  He rested his shoulders against the wall as he wilted dejectedly.

Even if he managed to speak to her tonight, Aneira clearly had other duties to attend to, just as he did.  It wouldn’t be fair to try to take up too much of her time.  Gods know, if she had agreed to join the Legion like he’d asked her to so many months ago then she must already have missions in mind that she would agree to take.

It would be best if he just said hello now, told her he was happy to see her well, and thanked her for pledging herself to the Legion.  Maybe Hadvar could say he would like to speak with her again someday, when they were both free of pressing commitments.  Or maybe-

“Hadvar.”

The soldier almost jumped out of his skin for the second time, the wine bottle nearly slipping through his grip in his surprise as he turned to the soft voice.

Aneira’s face was close, little more than a foot away, and her eyes were focused on his.

“Aneira,” he said back on reflex, turning his body so that they faced each other fully.

The lady was gazing back at him, mouth tilted like she wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it.  The firelight was all that illuminated her, and at first, he thought that was why her familiar features looked different.  But the flames flickered and bent, and he realized that it was just her face that had changed.

Despite the gentle look in her eyes, there was a sharpness to her that hadn’t been there in Riverwood.  The angles of her cheekbones were prominent in a way that women sometimes had after hardening their bodies in combat, and the softness of her features that she’d once said must come from her Breton lineage was all but gone.  Even the slant of her upturned eyes seemed more pronounced, as if every inch of her was conditioned to serve a purpose and draw the gaze of others.

She was more enchanting than he could have remembered or imagined.

“Are you well?” Aneira asked quietly, bringing her hands forward to clasp them over her waist.  Her bottle of spiced wine rested between her fingers.  The dark-haired woman didn’t look away from him, even as he shifted anxiously on his feet.

“Very well, my lady,” Hadvar answered just as softly, feeling the urge to reach out and feel her hair where it rested against her collarbone.  “And you?”

Now Aneira smiled, a subtle quirk of her lips. “I am fine.”  Her eyes moved over his face.  “I am,” she paused, inhaling slowly, “very glad to see you again.”

“And you.” There was a pressure building in his lungs where all the words he wanted to voice grew into a pile.  Hadvar took a moment to take a quick pull from the bottle, licking his lips while he thought of what could be appropriate to say now before it became awkward.  He couldn’t bear to head out tomorrow if they left things unpleasantly.

“Do you have any other duties tonight?”

Hadvar blinked, watching as she lifted her own bottle to her lips.  “No, Dragonborn,” he said slowly, eyes drifting to the people surrounding them in search of anyone listening.  “Tonight was my break in duties. I-” he paused, licking his lips as he thought about what was acceptable to say.  _Need-to-know_.  “I do leave tomorrow afternoon.”

“Of course,” Aneira said, tilting the bottle lip away again to rest it against her hip.  “Now that the truce is ended, our civil war will begin again in earnest.” Her smile turned melancholy.  “But you have nothing pressing tonight?”

“I-no,” he replied, looking into her eyes as his heart stuttered slightly.  “No, nothing I must do after the festival.”  A cautious hope was settling in his breast, frail and fluttering but alive.

“Good,” Aneira sighed, letting her teeth show as her smile widened in relief.  “Good.”  She swallowed once, licking her lips before glancing around herself.  Hadvar let his eyes mirror hers, wondering how the Dragonborn was avoiding attention with him for so long.  “Would you take a walk with me?”

Inhaling, Hadvar pressed his lips together before nodding quickly.  Aneira returned it, bringing up a hand to brush away the strands of hair tickling her cheek.

“The building next door,” she began softly.  “There’s a small balcony overlooking the sea.  You can get to it by the path near the front steps.”  Aneira left her hand against her neck.  “If you go there, I can follow in a little while.”

Hadvar opened his mouth, confusion cutting off his words.  “But,” he paused, “who’s house is-”

“Don’t worry,” she laughed lightly as she took a step back.  “But you’ll be there soon?” Aneira moved slowly toward the crowd, keeping her eyes on him until he answered.

“Aye, my lady,” Hadvar gave her another nod, sliding away from the wall to move in the opposite direction she’d taken.  Aneira turned away with a whip of her hair, heading back into the crowd around the effigy while the soldier moved toward the entrance to the street.

The path wasn’t hard to find, even moving through the dark, so Hadvar moved quietly up the short flight of stairs until he reached the landing.  There was a table and chair, but the redhead moved past it in favor of resting his arms against the opening in the stone.  He leaned his weight on the wall, letting the breeze from the Sea of Ghosts cool the heated skin of his face.

He didn’t think he’d had his perception of the world so abruptly turned on its head since Alduin had landed on that tower in Helgen.  And even then, his blue-eyed lady had been there.  It shouldn’t surprise him that she would reenter his left so abruptly now.

Hadvar breathed deeply, letting the crisp salty air fill his lungs as he tried to slow his heart while he waited to hear her footsteps approaching.

When she finally did appear, the questions that had been building in his throat melted away.  Aneira moved carefully to the door and pulled out a small key.  She opened the lock with a click that echoed in the small enclosure before turning around to face him and reach out her hand.

“Hadvar,” the woman whispered, and he moved forward to wrap their palms together before stepping into the towering building with her.

* * *

His armor hit the ground of her bedroom first, landing in a pile of leather and metal.  Hadvar wasn’t entirely certain how she’d managed to undo his buckles and straps so quickly while he continued to work the straps of her dress like a boy at his first time, but Aneira tugged his hands back in front of her to loosen his wrist straps before he’d managed more than two loops.

“The summit,” he panted once, pulling away from her lips to cup her cheeks.  “I wanted to go. Wanted to be on his guard. Just to get a glimpse of you again.”  Hadvar saw the way her eyes darted over his face, cheeks heated beneath his fingers.  “But I-I knew,” he finished, moving to pepper kisses against her mouth, “you wouldn’t want me there. Wouldn’t want a distraction at something so-so-”

Aneira let out a huff, fingers clenching around his biceps.  “I would’ve love it,” she assured him breathily.  “I would’ve loved to see you.  But I couldn’t, Hadvar.  Not then, not when everything had to be calm and, and…”

His priestess trailed off, bringing her right hand up to his neck to pull him firmly against her, kissing him back until they were both gasping.

“I missed you,” Hadvar moaned against her temple, left hand moving to sink his fingers into her hair.  “Aneira, I missed you so much.”

He felt her hands against his back, nails digging into the thin material of his undershirt before they moved to tug it upwards.  Aneira’s fingertips rested on the bare skin of his hips, dragging against the dip of his lower back before she pulled away to bunch the shirt up and over his head.

“Hadvar,” she whispered, leaning against his bare chest while he moved hastily to her dress ribbons again.  Aneira hummed against his collarbone when he finally managed to loosen the dress enough to slide it down her body.

They pulled away, both staring at each other while keeping a hold at their elbows.  Hadvar ran his fingers up the length of her arms, smoothing his hands down her sides until they reached her hips.  Aneira shuddered, moving forward to wrap her arms around his neck and press her lips against his ear.

Gasping into her neck, Hadvar let her guide him deeper into the room toward the bed.  He braced himself against a post before turning to tumble them upon it with a sigh that was almost a laugh.

* * *

“You _own_ this house?”

Hadvar didn’t bother to hide his incredulity, tipping his head up so he could watch as she moved around the small table at the front of the room.  Aneira hung her dress over the back of a chair before reaching for the bottles sitting nearby, giving him a view of her bare figure when she did so.

She turned to meet his eyes with a fresh bottle of ordinary wine that had been waiting beside a plate of vegetables.  His lady looked amused.

“I _own_ it, yes.”  She moved back to him, leaning over the bed so he could take the bottle.  Aneira lifted the green blanket to crawl back under it with him, and Hadvar felt pleasure curl in his gut as she slid their legs together.  “Elisif wanted to make me Thane, and the law requires that all Thanes own property in the hold.”  Aneira let her head fall back against the soft pillow behind her.  “It was the only place available.  I know it’s a bit,” she pursed her lips, eyes roaming over the elegant bed posts and stained-glass windows, “much.  But it’s beautiful, and Jordis and I have many good memories here.”

“Jordis?” Hadvar asked, taking a swig from the bottle before handing it back to her. Aneira swept her mussed hair away from her face as she propped herself on an elbow, taking a low pull from the burgundy liquid.

“My housecarl.  She was at the festival with a friend.  I’m sure they’ll both stay out a while longer.”

Aneira punctuated that belief by turning to put the bottle on the small wardrobe at the side of the bed before she moved to wrap her long legs around his hips.  Hadvar inhaled deeply as she leaned over him, pressing her breasts against his chest while her hands found his shoulders.  He moaned into her kiss, hands coming up to flatten against her back and force her closer.

“Don’t you think the night is still young, Hadvar?” Aneira whispered the question against his ear as she moved her lower body flush against his.  Hadvar answered by pinning her tightly to him as he whipped them over on the mattress.  She hitched her legs around him obligingly as he moved inside her, and he sealed his lips around the pulse point in her neck.  He relished the feeling of her moan vibrating against his mouth.

* * *

 

“Was there anyone else?” Hadvar almost swallowed the question, feeling its weight in the air between their faces.

Aneira turned away from the ceiling, letting the fingers she had against his shoulder stroke him lightly.  “Yes,” she answered simply, making eye contact with him without shame.  “We weren’t truly together, but kept to each other for some time.”

Hadvar swallowed, keeping his voice quiet in the near silence of the room. “What happened?”

“Nothing, really.” Aneira shrugged her shoulders against her pillow.  “I had too many duties, and he had his.  We’re still close.”  She moved her fingers to brush along his spine, and Hadvar sank deeper into the bed.  “And you?”

“No,” Hadvar admitted, trying to curl his back to force her fingers down harder.  His lady acquiesced.  “Even during the truce, I was hardly in the mood.  The camps were all on edge.  And,” he added dryly, “there aren’t many women in the Legion that I know well.  Or that many women, in general.”

“ _Hmph_ ,” Aneira hummed, pressing two fingers deeply into a knot near Hadvar’s right shoulder.  He groaned in appreciation while she worked it.  “That would pose a problem.”

Hadvar smirked at her teasing, the muscles of his back flexing while she worked.  He made a mental note to offer her the same treatment when she was done.

“We’ll have to try to be discreet, then.” Aneira shifted closer, giving his left shoulder a gentle kiss.  “It wouldn’t look good if everyone knew we were more than comrades even before our first mission together.”

“Aye,” Hadvar agreed absently, draping his left arm over her shoulder to let his fingers play with her hair.  It took a moment for her words to make sense in his drowsy mind.  “Ah. What mission?”

The Dragonborn looked up at him through her dark lashes.  “The retrieval mission tomorrow. With Rikke.”

Hadvar lifted his head from his pillow, bringing his right arm underneath him to balance on his elbow.  Aneira blinked her eyes slowly, letting her fingers still against his side.

“You’re going on that?” His brows were furrowed, pleasure and the beginnings of exhaustion still slowing his brain as he tried to understand what she was saying.

“Yes,” she whispered, sliding against the bed until she was lying in the opening he’d created beneath his body.  “We’re going together.”  Aneira let her right palm slide up his chest, pressing against him until her nails were scratching his neck.  “Does that make you as happy as it makes me?”

It was a genuine question.  Even in his muddled state, Hadvar could tell that.  And he heard the moment of vulnerability within it.

“More,” he told her fervently, pressing down against her and lifting her body until they were flush again.  “So much more. Aneira, you’ll _be_ there.  Running a mission with you, it’s,” Hadvar’s words slurred as he kissed along her cheek.  _It’s what I dreamed of in Riverwood_.

After that, it didn’t take long for them both to rouse enough to move together again, Aneira’s legs wrapped tightly around Hadvar’s thighs as he thrust inside her.  The redhead clutched tightly at her shoulders, elbow bent to keep himself aloft while they rocked together slowly.  Aneira’s head rolled back against the pillow, her hair fanning out behind her in dark curls.  Hadvar latched his mouth onto her neck, lips skating to her ear as he whispered her beautiful she was, how incredible, how long he’d wanted this again.

Aneira moaned and twisted beneath him, hands spasming against his back when she arched against him as they finished.  Hadvar collapsed to her left side, chest heaving against her shoulder while he wrapped his left arm clumsily across her.

There wasn’t much else to be said afterwards, and he let the darkness encroaching in at the edge of his vision take him into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aneira is fighting in a war, but someone has to remind her she’s not fighting it by herself.

Hadvar blinked slowly, trying to breath steadily past the stench of blood, sweat, and death around him.  His ears were still ringing, even after he’d removed his steel helmet.

At the end of it all, the gate was almost entirely untouched save for the scorch marks left by the catapults.  The Stormcloaks never even managed to lower the drawbridge under the barrage of arrows and blockade of Imperial soldiers manning the path up to the capital.  The inner city was damaged by the flames, but Whiterun’s dragon attack precautions applied just as well to fires ignited by humans.

Thanks to the thorough preparation of Balgruuf and the Legion, Whiterun had held against the rebel assault.

And, of course, thanks to Aneira, her shouts, and the enormous red dragon she had summoned to deal with the Stormcloak catapults.

The Nord’s face morphed in disgust for the dozenth time as the sounds of the dragon reached him.  The beast was feasting on the bodies of the Stormcloaks at the destroyed catapults.  No one dared to go near the red scaled creature, and it had left the Imperial soldiers well enough alone during the battle.  Apparently, it and Aneira had come to some sort of deal, although Hadvar hardly liked to think of dragons as something you could bargain with.  The Dragonborn had passed down to all the soldiers through the chain of command that the dragon was going to help and wasn’t to be attacked in any way.  “He,” as she’d called it, would keep his savagery to those in blue uniforms outside the city.  Although she didn’t use the term savagery.

“Sir, we’re out of potions,” gasped a freckle-faced youth, blonde hair sticking to the sweat on his face and head as he ran to Hadvar’s side.  The young Nord was looking down at the Quaestor’s leg.  “I can- I’ll go find a healer, and-”

“At ease, lad.”  Hadvar panted where he leaned against the wall that had only hours before supported the barricade, a newly empty water skin dangling from his fingers.  The majority of the troops were ready to collapse much like him, though a good number had taken off across the plains to chase down any of the Stormcloaks trying to flee back to Ulfric.  Aneira had led that charge far past the stables and toward the road where the Stormcloaks had tried to go north along the White River.  The Dragonborn had been only a few paces from him when the rebels initially broke ranks and fled, giving the redhead an eyeful of her terrifying yet awe-inspiring combat skill.  The other soldiers had followed out behind her, sprinting for the traitors and disappearing beyond his gaze.

Were it not for the deep gash still weeping crimson on his right leg, Hadvar would have gladly joined them.  Given what he’d seen of Aneira in Korvanjund, he had no doubts that each Stormcloak that had attacked Whiterun would be put down, even if a few of those watching from the safety of the hills managed to escape.

As it was, he had been left to drink his last healing potion and water, and hope that a healer came along who wasn’t too busy trying to keep his fellow legionnaires from death.  The potion had been enough to seal the deeper parts of the wound, but it remained exposed enough that he worried about infection.  The priests and priestesses had gone further outside the gates to finds those soldiers still clinging to life or limping back from the battle.  Aneira hadn’t had any time to contribute to that herself before taking off.  Hadvar grimaced as he thought on the guilt she would have later at just the idea of soldiers dying because she didn’t heal them in time.

“Don’t disturb the healers that are tending to the wounded,” Hadvar answered, watching as the skinny young man gulped and looked around the sea of bodies still around them.  “See if any of these traitors have a potion you can take or help me back toward the gate.”

The boy darted away, hurriedly tipping over bodies and notably fighting back the urge to vomit.  After a few minutes of pointless searching and increasingly shaky limbs, Hadvar tipped his head back against the stones, praying to Stendarr that his wound wouldn’t reopen.

“Come on, soldier.  Help me to the city. I’ll find some help in there.”

“Yessir,” the boy answered quickly, dashing back to put Hadvar’s right arm over his shoulders.  Grunting quietly as the pain returned, Hadvar let the young Nord help him limp toward the gate.

He’d grown dependent on his lovely priestess after all, the Quaestor thought dryly.  It wouldn’t do to sit around waiting for her to heal him again.

* * *

_Arrows struck and broke against the stone arch above him as the cluster of Stormcloaks advanced.  The barricade had collapsed only about ten minutes before, and the nearby bodies of the first wave of rebels were a testament to how much blood had been spilled in the effort.  Now, there wasn’t much Hadvar could do at the moment to defend against the arrows except keep his shield up and wait for them to get closer._

_There was a roaring in his ears mingled with the screams of war and crash of iron and steel.  The dragon Aneira had summoned at the very beginning of the assault was still roaring out at the farms, hopefully leaving the Stormcloak catapults smoking ruins._

_And every few minutes, the Dragonborn herself let out a mighty Shout, and the traitors nearest to her suffered the consequences.  Hadvar had personally seen a group of five drop to the ground covered in chunks of ice, ripe for the kill by the Legionnaires nearby._

_Aneira was beyond the fallen barricade at the moment, only fifteen feet away but still far too exposed.  She was well covered behind a glowing Nordic shield, specifically designed to draw the eye of the Stormcloaks and keep their attention away from the sentries raining arrows upon them._

_Hadvar understood it was part of her plan, that Tullius has signed off on it, but his heart hammered heavily in his chest every time she reached around her personal barricade to launch blistering frost or lightning into the blue armored warriors._

_“Quaestor!”_

_Rikke appeared beside him, sword drawn and armor bloody.  “Fall back to the drawbridge and take over there!  Leave the pathway to the archers and make sure anyone they miss doesn’t make it past the moat!”_

_His head twitched away from the Legate, eyes unerringly drawn back to where Aneira had lifted her shield and charged a group of rebels, her enchanted ebony sword dancing in the air as a group of three launched themselves at her._

_“Now! Quaestor!”_

_Hadvar grit his teeth and moved, leaving Aneira to her battle and following his orders.  He let the adrenaline of battle flow through him until he turned around again, watching the Stormcloaks race up the path toward his line of defense._

_“Come on then, you blue bastards,” Hadvar muttered, taking a single moment to watch Aneira through the small passage.  She’d surrounded a group of rebels inside a wall of ice.  “Let’s see what Ulfric has to show us!”  His fellow legionnaires echo his words with cries of fury._

_The first man charged with a war cry and hammer and fell just as quickly when Hadvar ran him through with his sword.  The next two had the sense to attack him together, but Hadvar had been trained by his Empire since he was little more than a boy.  The heavily bearded men fell one after the other, gagging on their own blood as Hadvar moved to finish the job with brutal efficiency._

* * *

“Aneira,” he whispered, letting his hands come up to cup her shoulders.  “Aneira, you need to sleep.”

“There are more still waiting,” she replied back, keeping her voice hushed as she unbent her spine over the latest wounded soldier reclining against the temple’s crowded walls.

“I know,” he murmured, pulling on her lightly.  “I know there are, Aneira. But you have to take a break.”

“I can’t,” she whispered back harshly, shrugging off his touch and moving back down to a new dark-skinned soldier with a severely torn right arm.  “They’ve been carting in wounded all day.  The priests and priestess are exhausted. We have to heal as many as we can before they-”

“It’s alright,” Hadvar soothed, reaching out again so that his hands fell lower on her arms.  She’d changed out of her Nordic armor into her dark mage robes and pieces of jewelry immediately after the battle, drastically increasing her magicka supply for healing.  “It’s alright, sweet priestess.”  He tugged harder this time, and Aneira turned around to face him.  Her deep blue eyes were bloodshot, wide and blinking slowly in her pale face.  The battle was only half a day behind them, the moon high in the sky, and Aneira had yet to pause and breath for herself.  Her eyes had dark circles beneath them, augmenting her cheekbones in a way that made her look dead on her feet.  “You just need to rest for a little while.”

Aneira’s lips thinned, head shaking negative as she looked around.  The temple was foul with the smell of blood and moans of the wounded.  But Hadvar looked around himself and saw the numerous healers darting between the soldiers and citizens, and he knew that all things considered this had to be one of the least devastating battles the Legion had seen in years.  With the extra priests sent to Whiterun with the legionnaires, everyone that had been clinging to life in the plains had been returned to the city and restored to health as well as they could be.  Now it only fell to the temple healers to ensure no one relapsed or faded during the night.

That was why Danica Pure-Spring had asked that someone speak to the Dragonborn, because nothing the priestess said was getting through to her.  The last thing they needed was for an exhausted war hero to collapse in the temple and stir everyone up into a frenzy.

“Dragonborn,” the Nord woman said carefully from behind Hadvar, “we have plenty of healers for now.  And none of us fought in the battle today. _Go home_.”  Her voice carried a hint of aggravation, and Hadvar grimaced, hoping no one else was paying attention.

“Aneira,” Hadvar admonished carefully, wrapping his right arm slowly around her shoulders.  “Come along, we’ve got to get you to bed.”

Their words seemed to be working, because Aneira was starting to slump against his side.  The redhead angled them carefully toward the back door of the temple, hoping to avoid as much of the rushing crowds as possible.  He was lucky, and they made their way through the back street toward Breezehome without being accosted.  That in itself seemed like a miracle, since until now people had been throwing themselves at Aneira either in panic or praise.  Small wonder that she had tried to run herself into the ground.

The Dragonborn hadn’t stopped to take a break for more than a moment since she returned from the field.  She’d stopped to listen to Balgruuf’s speech, drinking water and stamina potions quickly before rushing back out to the plains.  Hadvar had learned later on from Danica that Aneira had run through the bodies with detect life glowing nearly constantly, barking at soldiers and healers to help get the wounded healed and back into the city.  According to one report, a single Imperial soldier had been bleeding out not far from Pelagia Farm, buried under his fallen comrades and unconscious until Aneira found him.  There were countless stories circulating the city, and soon the country, of the Dragonborn’s incredible battle prowess and healing ability.

Hadvar grimaced, understanding that the more famous Aneira became, the more she would take on for herself.  Vital to the war effort she may be, and Dragonborn she may be, but his lady was still mortal.

Lydia greeted them near the door, frowning with worry when she saw her thoroughly wearied Thane.  “Thank Kynareth you found her,” the housecarl breathed, getting on Aneira’s other side as they moved together toward the stairs.  “Let’s get her straight to bed.  There’s water up on the table.”

Aneira grunted a little at the manhandling, making Hadvar grin at her petulant scowl once she demonstrated she could get up the stairs just fine on her own.  Hadvar didn’t _have_ to help her remove the mage robes, but he was happy to anyway, jolting her with occasional pinches and tickles until she smiled and laughed.  Aneira darted away from his wiggling fingers until she was sprawled out on the bed, wrapped in only a sleeping gown and eyes fluttering steadily closed.

“I’ve got to get up early tomorrow,” she muttered, making room on the bed for Hadvar to join her after he’d removed his own armor.  He paused before getting under the furs, wiping down his body as quickly and efficiently as he could with the bowl of water Lydia had left.  “The city needs to clear away all the debris, and there might be more people in need of healing once the soldiers are tended to,” she pleaded, voice trailing off has Hadvar rested a hand against her side.

“Shh,” he begged, letting his fingers stroke over her back.  “Shh, Aneira. Sleep. You can’t,” Hadvar’s inhale shuddered, throat closing tightly for a moment, “you can’t do everything for everyone. Stop worrying about it for tonight.”

The dark-haired woman whimpered lightly, and Hadvar watched in dismay as tears leaked from her eyes.  “I’m so tired,” she said, reaching out to drape her right arm over him.  “That can’t- there’s still so much I have to do-”

“ _Sleep_.” Hadvar ordered desperately, curling around her until she didn’t have room to think about anything else.  “Everything can wait until morning.”  He pressed his lips against the crown of her head, breathing deeply into her hair until at last she went limp in his arms.

Hadvar let out a soft sigh of relief as he followed her into sleep, grateful that the world didn’t seem as bright or alive to him so many hours after the battle.  Grateful that he didn’t have to go out and find Aneira face down in the dirt somewhere, passed out from exhaustion or worse.

Despite his hopes, sleep couldn’t keep the faces of the men and women he’d killed out of his mind, and if the way Aneira twitched and grunted in her sleep was any indication, her rest was as plagued as his.

* * *

“I need this to go well.  This is my first real command since they promoted me after Whiterun.”  The rank of Praefect set on him heavily, even as he relished the additional faith in his abilities.

“Have you been sleeping well?” Aneira asked it quietly, offering Hadvar a piece of leek.  The vegetables were cold by now, since they couldn’t risk a fire in the darkness.  It was fortunate that the Rift was warmer than most parts of Skyrim.

Hadvar scratched at the back of his neck, briefly considering lying.  “Not always,” he muttered back, pausing to take a bite.  Aneira liked to make sure he was eating well.  “You know, some nights when I close my eyes, I see the battle stretched out before me, like I’m still there.”  He looked up at the stars, hesitant to meet her eyes and see pity.  “Do the men you’ve killed haunt you? Mine do,” he added softly, cutting off his own words with another bite of leek.

Aneira put an armored hand on his arm.  “Only a beast kills without feeling,” she answered quietly, letting her hand ground him.  “There’s so much blood on all our hands now.  Isn’t it a good thing,” she asked haltingly, moving to stand at his side, “that we still feel the weight of that?”  Hadvar heard her swallow.  “I don’t want to… to wake up one day and find death doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Aye,” Hadvar agreed softly.  “It wasn’t like I was an innocent before the battle, anyway.”  He huffed softly, working his throat.  “Just never fought in a battle like that before”

“So many people have died because of this war, Hadvar.  It’s why I joined the Legion.  It’s why you fight.  And if you hadn’t killed them, they would have killed you.”  Aneira moved her hand to cup his neck.  “We are the lucky ones, because we survived.  I _won’t_ be sorry that we fought to defend ourselves.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself,” Hadvar nodded, reaching up briefly to squeeze her fingers.  “Can’t linger on it, though.  We’ve got a job to do.”

“That’s why I’m here, actually,” Aneira whispered, moving away from him to crouch lower on the rock.  “There’s a Stormcloak wagon not far from here, loaded with coins and weapons.  It’s headed for Windhelm.”

Hadvar looked at her, sliding off the rock as well.  “Really? It just so happens we’ve been tracking a wagon!  For about a day, now.”  Hadvar gestured to a soldier nearby, motioning for him to keep up his patrol.  “How’d you find this out?”

“Anuriel.  I blackmailed her for the information.”  Aneira kept her voice low, watching the other soldier walk past.  “She’s always cared more about her own position than the war.  One threat to tell Law-Giver and she was talking.”

Hadvar grinned, genuine mirth coming out for the first time in days.  Gods, he missed this woman when they were apart.  “That was crafty.  I’m sure having a steward in the pocket will come in handy.”

Aneira smirked.  “Oh, trust me, it already has.  Too bad for us, Tullius isn’t going to leave a Stormcloak supporter’s steward in power.  She’ll be sent to Windhelm in exile, just like Skald and Korir once we take back Riften.”

Nodding in mock commiseration, Hadvar jerked a thumb over his shoulder.  “Well, _lucky_ for us, that wagon recently had a little accident.  They’re stranded now.  Just up the road.”  Hadvar gestured to the Imperial soldiers moving quietly along the dirt path.  “We’re outnumbered, but I have a plan. You got here just in time.”

The Quaestor smiled, taking a knee before him to listen.

* * *

“I’m not going to order my men to just stand by while a new recruit takes down the rebels _they’ve_ spent the day tracking.” Hadvar raised his voice a little, conscious of the wilds around them.  They didn’t have time to be having this argument, didn’t have time to be letting their emotions interfere with the mission, didn’t have-

“Why are you insisting on this?” Aneira’s confusion was genuine, her eyebrows furrowed and mouth a thin line. Hadvar glanced around hastily, knowing his troops would be able to hear them soon.  “I can take them all out without issue.  Why risk your men’s lives-”

“This is hardly a risk,” the redhead whispered back hurriedly, closing the distance between them again.  He reached out, tugging on her arm until she relented and crouched back down with him.  “The plan is simple, and the men are ready to do it.  They’ve been _waiting_ to do it. Aneira,” Hadvar sighed gustily, frustration edging through.  “You can’t win the war by yourself.”  The Nord kept eye contact with her, keeping his hand on her arm.  “And you can’t brush aside every other legionnaire out there.”  Hadvar gestured behind him.  “Do you think it helps morale to watch you burst through the enemy and leave them all standing around useless?”

Aneira frowned.  “Half the reason Tullius wanted me on the front lines was so the other legionnaires would see me defeat the enemy.”  Her face was resigned in a way that worried Hadvar, and if they had more time he would sit her down and _make_ her talk to him.

“Aye, to _join you_ in battle.”  He shook his head.  “The men want to follow you into battle, Aneira.  They want to be able to say they fought alongside you, not just watched you destroy the rebels for them.  And these men,” Hadvar glanced back again, making sure none of them had come closer, “they’ve earned a fight.  They’ve been tracking that wagon, waiting for a moment to engage.  We developed a plan before you even arrived.”  Hadvar stood, watching as Aneira mimicked his pose.  “My men deserve a bit of glory for themselves, too.”

Blinking rapidly, Aneira shuffled on her feet.  Her expression was torn, eyes darting from Hadvar to the men gathered behind him.

“I don’t want any of them to die,” she rasped.  “It’s why I _joined_ this fight.  I want to keep as many of you alive as possible.  Why is that wrong?”

“Because it can’t be you and us, Aneira.”  Hadvar reached out to put a hand on her neck, aware of the gazes of his men.  “You’re part of _us_ , now.”  Aneira bit her lip, looking at him with her eyes shining in the moonlight.  She nodded jerkily, taking a deep breath.

“Okay, sir.  Lead on.”

* * *

“We make quite a team, eh?” Hadvar gloated, walking over to Aneira as she wiped her ebony sword on the ground.  She had moved far away from remains of the skirmish to tend to her weapon.  “You didn’t even need to use a shout.”

Aneira huffed, sliding her sword back into its sheath before she faced him.  “Aye,” she agreed, eyes cast across the darkness in the direction of the recently dead Stormcloaks.  “There was no point between your archery and the men’s quick swordplay.  It was a good plan, sir.”

Hadvar smile at her, pleased, before he reached out to put a hand on her shoulder.  “No losses, either.”

The Dragonborn nodded stiffly, looking up at him with a regretful expression.  “It’s strange,” her voice was hushed, “to rush into battle with others.  I’m so used to fighting alone, or with one or two people I trust.”  She shook her head, lifting a hand to pull away her heavy Nordic helmet.  Her hair clung to her skin.  “It was wrong of me,” she admitted quietly, “to question you like that.  This is your command.”

“It is,” Hadvar agreed, taking a step back from her.  “And we all have to work under the chain of command.  I know Tullius granted you special status.  You’ll always be the Dragonborn, and you’ll probably always be able to use that,” Hadvar teased, reaching up to rub his thumb across her cheek.  “I remember how you fought in Korvanjund, and how Rikke kept sending you off on your own. But it wasn’t bad being part of this, was it?”

“No,” Aneira agreed quickly, reaching up to cup his palm against her cheek.  “But working with you could never be bad.”

“Careful, sweet priestess,” Hadvar admonished lightly.  “You’ll give me a big head.”

Aneira scoffed, reaching forward to bring him close.  She pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips, gentle and fierce for all its brevity.

It was more than they should do, especially in the open with the men able to see if they left the wagon to follow Hadvar.

“I’ll stay here with the shipment.  You get back to camp with news.”  Hadvar backed away, grinning a little goofily.  “Have them send some men – with a new wagon. This one isn’t going anywhere.”

Aneira smiled back at him. “Yessir,” she answered, nodding goodbye before leaving he and his men to their posts.


End file.
